


Raconteurs And Storytellers

by antic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Future Fic, Gen, Legendary Winchesters, POV Outsider, Storytelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 20:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antic/pseuds/antic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say they still walk the earth. Brothers in arms. What we know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> More outside POV. Sprinkled with general legendaryness. Because there could be never too much of legendary Winchesters.

They say they still walk the earth. Tall and dark and dangerous. Invincible.

They say sometimes you can still see a smooth, black car rolling through the lost towns, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.

They say you feel a rumble, deep inside.

And all the killings stop.

There are still things in the dark, waiting, lurking.

But there’s a name. Giving hope, something to believe in. It’s like light in the middle of the night. The fate isn’t carved in stone. The choices are yours to make.

They say you can call them.

They say they can hear you.

The brothers of up and down.

The renegades of right and wrong.

The rulers of Heaven and Hell.

The protectors of everything in between.

Together.

Brothers in arms.

The Winchesters.

 

 

He was sitting at the bar, nursing his beer languidly. It took her so long to track him down. His sandy blond hair profusely stained with gray. Wrinkled skin like paper. The barmaid was shuffling around uneasily, shooting him worried glances now and then.

“You know about them,” she stated finally, coming closer. At first she wasn’t sure he even heard her and just when she was about to repeat herself, the answer came and froze the blood in her veins.

“I knew about them,” so quiet, so tired and so deeply remorseful, for a moment she felt sorry. She sat down next to him and gestured for a beer. They sat in silence for awhile. She felt an excited thrum run through her body. She was so close, sitting right next to one of the many pieces of the most incredible puzzle.

Finally she settled on, “Can you tell me about it?”

He looked at her with his watery, but still amazingly aware eyes suspiciously.

“You a journalist?”

She smiled crookedly, going for her most honest.

“No,” the lie rolled off her tongue easily. For a while longer he pierced her with a dubious gaze, obviously not believing, but seemed to relax a little nonetheless, knowing the grounds, and she twirled happily inside her head. He did something to get another beer, although she didn’t notice what. He took a long swig and shook his head resignedly.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he announced finally. No, she wasn’t going to give up that easy. Too much time spent to reach this place.

“Please,” she pleaded, making her eyes big and innocent. “I want to know.”

He smiled grimly.

“Many wanted to,” he paused, then pointed at her with a shaking finger. “What makes you so different?”

She leaned back in her chair abruptly, feeling almost like she’s been smacked. Her delicate features screaming childish innocence never failed her before. He seemed to notice and smiled knowingly.

“Girl–” he started.

“Cindy,” she interrupted.

“Cindy,” he emphasized a bit sarcastically. “You met Sam Winchester you ain’t getting fooled easily. That one pulled heavy ammo out, you had nothin’ on him.”

She held her breath, shocked. That was an actual admission of knowing them. Not only about them, but them, personally. She wasn’t ready for that, always thought it was just some fragmental information. Always assumed it was a far friend of a friend of a grandfather’s cousin’s girlfriend. It was better than hitting a jackpot.

“How old are you?” she asked incredulously, couldn’t help herself. He cackled. Few heads turned their way.

“When I first met them,” he said finally, seemed to consider something. “It was in two thousand and four, more or less,” he added and she spluttered, jaw dropping right down to her ankles.

“But– ” she could barely utter a question. “But how?!”

He rolled his eyes.

“Now, that would be telling a story and I’m still not convinced,” he answered.

“I–” she choked. “I’m just curious. I just want to know if they’re there. The legends–” she wasn’t able to finish.

“The legends!” the man cried out triumphantly. “Yeah, those are a piece of work.”

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head, as if trying to get something off.

“They always found them hilarious,” he muttered under his breath almost inaudibly.

She had to lean closer to hear him. That man was a fucking gold vein! She had to change tactics. She wasn’t leaving this place until she got her story.

“What do you say to another drink?” she inquired. “On me,” she added, as if in an afterthought. Apparently she wasn’t as subtle as she would imagine. The man snorted.

“Not only trying to bribe, but also get me drunk,” he shook his head with a faint smile. She thought she lost him right then. But, “I like it.”

She tried not to beam and gestured for another beer for him.

“No,” he said then. “If we’re gonna do this, I need the real stuff. Get me some whiskey.”

When he got his hands on the glass, he downed everything in one swallow. Immediately she called the barmaid over. This was going to ruin her, but it would be nothing if she finally got the whole picture. Or some of it. Some big, juicy, steamy part of it.

“You’re not first, y’know?” he asked at last. She looked at him. “There were others. Wanting to know,” he sighed. “I always refused. After all, my big mouth was exactly what brought me here in the first place,” she could tell he didn’t actually mean the bar. She felt an excited thrill running through her bones. He swiped a hand tiredly over his face.

“What changed your mind?” she chanced asking and almost slapped herself when he didn’t say anything for too long. But then he let out a breath and continued.

“I don’t think I deserve redemption anyway,” he said cryptically, as if finishing some long silent thought. “I can try. I could swear off talking for the rest of my life and it wouldn’t change a thing.”

She watched him like a hawk, swallowing every word hungrily. Her hidden recorder worked inaudibly in the pocket.

“I know I’m close, might as well get it off my chest,” he closed his eyes for a moment, as if trying to wave away dizziness. He smoothed a thumb over the space between his brows.

“So what happened?” she urged impatiently, bursting with electrifying energy. She had it. She really had it and they were real and she was talking to someone who knew them fucking personally.

“I made the worst mistake of my entire life,” was his answer. She waited for more, writhing restlessly in her chair. “I betrayed them.”

“What?” she asked, stunned. A cold chill ran down her back. That she didn’t expect. The man laughed humorlessly.

“You know, like I said,” he announced. “First I met ‘em, I was ten. Maybe twelve. Dunno, a long time ago. Lost track. Thought I knew it all, had it all figured out, living in a motel.”

She fell completely silent, waiting for more, desperate for more. What were they doing there? Who was he for them?

“My mother left for a few minutes, leaving me to take care of my brother and this guy comes in.”

She felt a shiver. Sitting right next to a piece of history. She had no idea how it must’ve been _knowing_ history itself.

“Another one sitting outside on the car hood. And man, they had the sweetest ride.”

The car, the famous car, the beast rumbling in the night. With time the knowledge of its origin blurred. Every legend claimed differently. All were agreeing on one, though – it was black, swallowing–all–color kind of black.

“What kind of a ride?” she had to know.

The man’s eyes turned dreamy.

“Classic. ’67 Chevy. Cherry,” he laughed a little at some memory. “Dean was obsessed with that thing. His baby,” he smirked mockingly, years of familiar intimacy and friendship out in the open.

It sounded so unexpectedly… human. She didn’t know what exactly was she thinking. They were human once, after all, weren’t they? They had to come from somewhere. They weren’t always legends. And she had the car. And she knew Dean Winchester was in love with it. She couldn’t help a smile. Oh, it was good.

Meanwhile, the old man continued with his story.

“I implied they were gay,” he chuckled lightheartedly. She looked at him disbelievingly. He noticed and shrugged. “Tried to entertain myself. They were damn impressive. Biggest guys I’ve ever seen and working in a shit motel you see lots.”

She nodded, fascinated.

“Only years later I finally figured out they weren’t just conveniently in the neighborhood.”

“What do you mean?” she asked densely. He raised an eyebrow.

“Kids were mass ending in the hospital with supposed pneumonia, all in comas and all gettin’ weaker by the day. They figured it out. And they stopped it. They actually looked for those things,” his eyebrows jumped up and down. He fell silent, staring into the glass.

“What was it?” she pried. A small half–smile graced his lips.

“Shtriga,” he muttered. She looked confused. “It took my brother. It went through siblings. I was next in line. They asked me to help them. That’s exactly when I found out about all things going bump in the dark,” he massaged his temple. “I said no. I was supposed to be bait.”

She let out a shocked gasp.

“You were a kid!”

He snorted.

“They were even more unhappy about it. Dean always had this soft spot for kids. And likewise,” he smiled at some unspoken memory. “Anyway, I thought about it. There was a chance I could get my brother to feel better. I had to do it. So I went to their room, heard them arguing.”

She had a feeling there was more to that story. Wanted to ask what they were arguing about. Motel room walls are thin.

“I needed reassurance. First time I got a taste of their bond, y’know? Asked Dean if he’d do everything for his brother,” he smiled crookedly. “He didn’t even hesitate. And was it true. He got it.”

Curiosity was eating out on her.

“Well, all in all, they killed it, Asher and every other kid got better and they disappeared. Thought I’d never see them again,” he paused. “Then I saw them on the most wanted list.”

Her jaw dropped.

“Then they died.”

She blinked.

“Wha–”

“Except they didn’t.”

“I don’t understand.”

He smiled secretively.

“Few years later they were public enemies number one,” he finished another glass. “And then died again. But it wasn’t them. They told me. They didn’t have to. I knew that anyway,” he sighed and looked in the mirror on the wall behind the counter. Touched his face with a pained expression. “I don’t know why I did it.”

She knew better than to interrupt such a remorseful moment. After a while he pulled himself together and continued.

“So as you probably know, there were basically two apocalypses. And then some,” he said like it was nothing, a minor inconvenience of the day. “They averted each one of them. But the second one wiped out so much,” he sighed, as if remembering. “You can actually still see the outcomes. Sometimes I wonder where we would’ve been by now if it weren’t for it. I think it was only then that they finally understood they were only human. So they sacrificed it. And took up their roles,” he stopped abruptly and pressed his lips into a thin line. Her eyes were actually bulging out of her skull by now, ears straining. “But on their conditions,” his eyes got harder, full of strength and for a while she could see the young man he used to be.

“After that time with Shtriga I saw them again. Twenty–something years later,” it was almost a whisper, his eyes filled with emotion. Then suddenly he laughed. “I remembered them big when I was a kid, I always thought that was all. I was ten and short, everyone was big then. Idolizing them a little also could’ve had something to do with it. But when I saw them again, they were huge. I felt even smaller than when I was a kid,” he snorted, shaking his head. “It was long after the first stories started spreading, not only restricted to hunter circles anymore. People were starting to get wary of things in the dark.”

He asked for a refill.

“I managed to finish university, specialized in track and evidence profiling,” the corner of his mouth curved upwards. “See where this is goin’?”

She nodded. Noticing things was essential. That’s why she was who she was and she was damn good at it. She gestured for him to continue, intrigued beyond healthy. His eyes were sparkling with amusement, his stance relaxed. The alcohol was taking its toll.

“For years I’ve been working with the police; then came the stories, whispered and unsure, more like fairytales and some really sick, morbid bedtime stories. Brought a lot of memories back. Throughout the years becoming reality based legends, the world we live in,” he finished bitterly. “Quite a world we got there, huh?” he started coughing violently. She didn’t know what to do, looked around helplessly, torn between putting her hand on his back and calling someone over. Finally she settled on asking.

“Are you okay?”

“Never better,” he snapped and straightened up, cleaning his throat with a generous gulp of whiskey. He took a few deep breaths to calm down.

“Yeah, so that was what pushed me to seek out some real hunters,” he sighed at last. “The stories, I mean. And not those douchebag Ghosfacer types; the real deal.”

She furrowed her brow at Ghostfacers. He looked at her patronizingly.

“You’re too young to know about those and believe me, you’re not missing anything,” he rolled his eyes, but they were shining with some hidden hilarity. “By the time I got my hands on an address of some hunter roadhouse, stories were in full swing,” he tapped his fingers on the counter in a seemingly unconscious gesture. “I took a few days off work and went up state to find the place. Crawling with people who supposedly struck a conversation with some demon who flinched at the name of a Winchester, claiming the whole evil supernatural world shook its pants at their mention.”

“Where were they?” she asked and grimaced inwardly at the childish behavior. She was a professional, damn it.

“That’s the thing,” he smirked. “Nobody heard. Nobody saw. For all they knew, they were dead.”

“But they weren’t,” she stated.

“No,” he confirmed. “They weren’t.”

 

 

“Where is she?” asked Eric rhetorically, staring at his phone furiously. “She’s not picking up!” then he heard a ruckus from the media room followed by angry cussing.

“Cholera jasna!” Robert jumped out of his game place. “Ja pierdolę, kurwa jebana mać! Pieprzone antyczne gówno! Jakbyśmy nie mogli zainwestować w pierdoloną kamerę normalnych rozmiarów!”

“What?!” Eric sighed exasperatedly.

“I fucking dropped the fucking camera on my fucking foot!”

“Is the equipment okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just fine, thanks for fucking asking!” Robert parked on the couch and started massaging his foot, brown hair poking his eyeballs freely. Eric rolled his eyes and went to see for himself. The camera was unharmed, sitting on the table among all the screens and wires. He came back to the main room.

“We got a friggin’ break–through documentary to run and she’s not answering her phone!” he repeated, awaiting some kind of reaction out of his friend. He didn’t get one. “Seriously? Nothing?”

Robert huffed and looked at him murderously.

“It’s a fucking real life monster,” Eric shot him a pointed look and then stretched his arms in front of himself, imitating headlines. “First time on–camera! Are we not alone? Do they really exist? Man, that’s like a fucking goldmine of epic!”

“How would you know?” snapped the brunet and swiped his cell off the coffee table.

“Hikers disappear all around, no cause, a deserted underground coalmine, is there a better place to be a monster than this?”

Robert gazed at him.

“It could be a fucking serial killer. Simple as that.”

“Yeah, see, now, with an attitude like this we’re never gonna get our break,” Eric ticked him off. Robert waved his hand dismissively and picked a number on his phone.

“Whatever, man. You take a gun and I’m good to go,” he said, bringing the cell to his ear. “But I ain’t waitin’ here forever, so if she’s not here soon, we’re goin’ without her.”

Eric sighed and smoothed a hand over his hair.

“Fine,” he said at last and turned around to collect all the stuff they’d need.


	2. Chapter 2

“So how did you find them?” she asked, focusing all her excitement. Maybe she could–

“Ha!” the man threw his head back. “Who ever said I did?”

She turned confused and disappointment started creeping around the edges. Didn’t he say it himself?

“But– ”

“Oh, I saw them alright,” he hurried with an explanation at the look on her face. His mouth curved up. “But you gotta know one thing, honey. You didn’t find them. They found you,” it had some sort of finality to it. “Some tried, but failed; even the best of them. Trackers, pattern masters. Everyone worked together; they had this whole board with scraps and pieces. Someone picked up a trail, others followed. But it was always, _always_ a dead end. Like at some point Winchesters just up and went. Gone. Puff!” he chuckled grimly. “They had no idea how right they were,” he sighed and fired up her curiosity even more. It was going to be luminary; she just knew it. After an hour she had more precious and useful information than after years of searching. It was so much better than their original plan to go record supposed monsters. They could always do that tomorrow. Right now she left the trailer two towns back and not even once regretted it. Her friends would be fine a day without her.

“So what happened?” she asked, tilting her head. He opened his mouth but no sound came out. He frowned. Then tried again.

“Well, I used to hang out at this roadhouse every time I got a chance, when I could get off work. Got into a few hunting jobs, but wasn’t cut out for it. So I resigned to research. Got quite a name while at it too. Some were even throwing Bobby Singer references,” he smiled resignedly, but with a hint of pride. Before she managed to ask more about the man – she vaguely remembered the name – he went on with the story.

“Guess the word spread,” he shrugged. “One time I got back home and found the door unlocked. Pulled out my gun and went in, sure I could take on everyone who tried something funny,” he snorted. “Good thing I didn’t have to. I lurked in the hallway. Then I heard voices. Deeper and stronger, but still familiar. I was so shocked I froze. To this day I swear, first time I heard the legendary Dean Winchester voice again it was complaining to his brother about the contents of my fridge,” he laughed disbelievingly and a little nervously. Her eyes were wide open. It sounded so normal. It must’ve showed on her face, because the man smiled at her mockingly.

“What did you expect?” he raised an eyebrow. “Storms, thunders and explosions?”

She didn’t know what she expected.

“Yeah, I probably did too,” he sighed and looked back to his glass. “But that wasn’t exactly for my eyes to see. Wasn’t my job.”

“Job?” she perked up immediately. He took a deep breath.

“They disappeared,” he started. Some loud family walked through the diner door, all laughs and good mood. They barely even noticed, encircled in their own memory bubble. “I mean,” he added instantly. “They were disappearing. Often. I understood that, the time worked differently for them and there were a lot of changes to induct.”

He stared at the mirror, not really seeing anything. She waited. When it became obvious he wasn’t going to continue without some further persuading, she signed for another drink and asked.

“Where were they disappearing to?” she barely concealed the fanatic urgency. “What did they ask you to do?”

For a moment there was still silence. Finally he let out a breath.

“I was supposed to be their contact with the world,” he said. She furrowed her brow. Apparently he didn’t realize she had no idea what that meant. “It was just my suspicion, that sometimes they were gone alternately, you know?” that wasn’t in any way connected to explaining his previous statement. “If they could help it, they always kept together. Not a safe world, that stuff. And it was still relatively close to the latest pseudo–apocalypse for things to run around freely. But sometimes I’d only see one without the other and _know_.”

“Know what?” she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t help a lot of things lately, trying not to bounce off her chair.

“They got real touchy when separated, snapping at people for no apparent reason,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “And that was when freely, somehow probably even willingly. When I asked it wasn’t like they were hiding things. They just had this way of answering that provided required information, but didn’t really give anything away. Anyway, let’s just say you wouldn’t want to know how they got when separated by force,” he visibly shivered and she felt it infectious, not really knowing why. He didn’t make any sense. “Should’ve thought about that,” he mumbled to himself and gulped down the contents of his glass.

Something was seriously off here. Unresolved past issues. And didn’t he mention something about betrayal before?

“So,” she said loudly, snapping him out of it. The man was getting too drunk for her liking. “Twenty years later. They must’ve gotten older, huh?” she steered them off the subject awkwardly. He looked up at her, not really seeing anything for a moment. Then just seemed confused.

“I guess you’re right,” he said at last. “But they weren’t. Old, I mean. They should be close to fifty or something by then, shouldn’t they?” he was really asking her that. She nodded automatically. “But no. Thirty, at most. Often looked even younger. When in good mood. Or fighting. Oh, you should’ve seen them fight,” he paused for a second. She was suppressing an inner fangirl moment. “I had a brother too, y’know?” he announced suddenly. She knew, he already mentioned that. “Younger. Never shared the same kind of understanding. We used to be inseparable. Then hit puberty and bam, gone. Went to college, moved on with our lives. He died at eighty-three,” he closed his eyes and cracked a small, one–sided smile. “I was thirty.”

She felt like someone struck her over the face.

“What?! How?” she stuttered. He looked at her like she was slow. She blushed, but still had no idea what to make out of it all. She knew something was going on, just decided not to dwell on it so much.

“I went in the kitchen,” he said out of the blue. Only after a moment she realized he went on with the story. “Sam hovering over my table, looking at some research I was stuck on. Dean spinning around and calling me kiddo. I was just standing there, trying to process. Just stood there and mauled over the thought of how huge they’ve both gotten. You see how insane that is? Not that the famous Winchester brothers were hanging out in my kitchen. Just how big they were,” he coughed up a laugh. “I managed to somehow forget their faces, but the second I laid eyes on them I remembered it all,” he stopped and she almost howled. How did they look like? It was essential! Everybody wanted to know, everybody! All knew they were big. Didn’t know exactly how big, but big. Everyone. Nobody knew how they looked like. “Dean smiled and my embarassing childhood hero worship instantly evolved into a fully developed mancrush. Fucker,” he smiled fondly. “That’s what you get. And Sam looked like a fucking bronze statue that just walked off a pedestal. Too pretty for the job, I always said. Both too pretty,” he laughed at some memory.

She felt her mouth dry in anticipation, needed details like a man on the desert needs water. But they never came.

“Cut story short, they wanted me to be their contact, what basically meant updating them on the current world situation,” he concluded. “I was following it anyway, so it wasn’t a big deal,” a smile stretched his face. “Of course they knew that. I agreed,” he shrugged.

“Why would they need that?” she had to ask.

“Haven’t I already told you?” he pierced her with his gaze. “Sometimes they’d disappear, a’ight? Then they’d suddenly be somewhere where I was just going. Like a diner. Or a bar. And we’d talk. Update. Sometimes they’d ask about jobs. Never about what they did. I mean, plenty about the small stuff. What they just took out. Who they just visited. Just nothing really significant. Apart from what I could sometimes make out of the discussion. And from what I could make out, I was glad they didn’t want to include me. Once or twice I walked in on them talkin’ to some guy in a trench coat, but he’d make himself scarce the minute I got through the door. End of story,” he said hoarsely, standing up.

“Wait!” she yelped, terrified. “No! Who was that man? What happened? Wha–”

“Listen, sweetheart,” he cut her off, swaying a little and catching himself on the counter. “Nice talkin’ to ya an’ all, but I gotta get goin’. Got some research to take care of,” and with that he turned around and left her by the bar, stunned. She checked her recorder the second he walked out. It was all there. She could work with that. She’d also try to get more tomorrow. Now that she got her hands on the man’s location, she wasn’t letting go. She glanced at the tab. She was going to shoot herself in the face first, though.

 

 

“Okay, that’s it!” Eric snapped. “She’s not here by tomorrow, we’re going in without her!”

“What’s the rush, sugarpop?” asked Robert, blowing the cigarette smoke out his nose, like it wasn’t him who wanted to do that in the first place.

“Don’t smoke in here!” he growled. “And the rush is, we were supposed to go today. Today! And with every hour our chances of catching anything on camera are getting slimmer. And I have to get the trailer back to my parents, they wanna road trip again.”

The brunet put out the cigarette in a gun–shaped ashtray.

“Then we’ll go tomorrow,” he shrugged. “If there really are monsters, like you two are obsessively convinced, sooner or later we’ll find another one.”

“Yeah, right! Just like that!” Eric huffed, snapping his fingers mockingly, blond hair falling in his eyes. “You know how long it’s taken me to piece this one all together?” he didn’t wait for an answer. “Months! Fucking months! I ain’t giving it up just because of friggin’–” his phone started ringing furiously. He picked it up instantly and exclaimed jovially. “Cindy!”

 

 

She really hoped she could be there for their breaking news footage, but she had no way of getting there on time today, and tomorrow she had a busy day scheduled. Stalk and bother her new source until he finally gave up the whole story. She wasn’t surprised Eric wouldn’t want to wait forever and even if his monster obsession went far, there were lengths even he wasn’t ready to go to. He was just as fascinated by the Winchester legends as she was, but he preferred a sure thing over a maybe. He did the whole research by himself, got a hold of transport, living quarters and a camera. Organized the whole thing. While searching for some info about this thing supposedly living underground, he stumbled upon a fact of the existence of her current source. Nobody exactly knew his name, at least it wasn’t known for public. But there were stories. And there were people and all the things they said. The forums swimming with obsessive maniacs swearing to have talked to old acquaintances or witnesses. Some even claimed to be actual descendants of the Winchester bloodline. And some believed it. But if you got through all the crap and obvious bullshit, you could see a pattern. Then all you had to do was solve the puzzle. But first you needed all the pieces. That’s why she brought the cell to her ear and slumped down onto the bed covered with a ratty, used–to–be–flowery quilt.

 

 

“Great, so guess what,” Eric threw his phone away.

“What?” mumbled Robert around a mouthful of his sandwich.

“She’s not coming,” he announced. “She found the guy.”

“What guy?” he was met with a confused look. He just stared for a while.

“God, you really don’t listen to any of us talk, do you?”

Robert didn’t say anything, just went on with his randez vous with a TV. That was an answer in itself. He should thank all things possible he was unnaturally good at handling the camera; otherwise Eric wouldn’t have even bothered taking him with them. Guy was obnoxious. Great friend, but unfortunately didn’t share any of Eric and Cindy’s obsession. That made him a non–believer and that wasn’t something they looked well upon.

“Well, then,” he rubbed his hands together. “Seems like it’s just gonna be you and me. Get your shit together, man. We’re going tomorrow.”

Robert grunted noncommittally and waved his hands around. Eric nodded to himself, satisfied. He didn’t care. Cindy wasn’t going to be here. So what? Not like she was necessary to the case. The monster was still there. And he was still going to get it all on camera. And then maybe they’d join Cindy and meet the guy she was so excitedly talking about. Not only prove there were creatures not from this world, but also the existence of people who hunted them. Two birds with one stone and all.

He sighed and dropped on the couch next to Robert. Very well.

 

 

“You’re still here,” was a greeting she got the next day. The man didn’t sound surprised. No wonder.

“I’m going to get the whole story,” she said in retaliation.

“Figures,” Cindy saw him slurp the rest of his beer down. Ten o’clock in the morning and drinking again. She shook her head in disapproval. “Not for you to judge,” she heard a cold voice. The hell? Now he had eyes in the back of his head? Only then she looked up and remembered the mirror on the wall. Great. Way to make an enemy out of a guy whom you’re trying to get a story of your life from. Splendid.

She took a chair next to him and ordered a glass of water. Too early for yesterday’s repeat.

“What happened?” she asked directly. No beating around the bush this time. She had a whole night of thinking everything he said over, piecing it together as a concept for a future book. Besides, she had a limited amount of time. They had till tomorrow at most. Eric’s parents wanted the trailer back.

“That is for me to know and for you to never find out,” said the man then and she felt an overwhelming surge of frustration.

“Come on,” she whined. “You can’t just drop a bomb like that on someone and then brush it off like nothing.”

“It was completely fucked up, stupid and childishly vengeful,” he announced. “Nothing to talk about.”

She laid a hand on his shoulder and felt it twitch under her touch.

“Tell me,” she tried to sound as earnest as possible. “You’ll feel better.”

He snorted suddenly and cackled humorlessly. She retreated her arm.

“Nothing would make me feel better, girl,” he exclaimed. There was silence for a while and just when she was going to push harder, he sighed heavily and stared talking.

“I worked for them fifty years,” he thumped his fingers on the counter. A nervous tick, she noticed. “It wasn’t straining, I didn’t have to leave anything behind, didn’t have to stay put in the country. Didn’t feel like prison or protective custody. Still kept in touch with friends and family, had a life. When I wanted to research something or needed adrenalin, Winchesters were the way to go. Or they were the ones to come to you, whatever,” he stopped, swallowed with visible difficulty and then asked for a whole bottle of Jack. Her eyes snapped even wider, but she didn’t say anything. If it meant she was getting her story, she was ready for everything. Even if it meant a guy drinking himself to oblivion. Or death. “But it was weird. Like I was under some safe dome. Never sick, never robbed, attacked, _old_. At first I loved it, the whole forever–young thing. But everyone around was aging, so quick. I was losing everybody, my parents, my girlfriend. She couldn’t stand the thought of being old and having me with her, it didn’t feel right. I fed people some story about this syndrome I got that made me age slower,” he squeezed the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes tight after another burning gulp. Cindy patted her pocket automatically, checking for the recorder. It was still there, still silently memorizing every word. “And then there were Sam and Dean, like nothing could ever touch them,” he grimaced, words coming out of his mouth somehow muffled. “All those years, all those terrible things and they were still smiling. Still laughing and joking, never bored. Still brothers, still together. I was getting bitter, maybe jealous. Never had any relationship even remotely similar. I blamed them for that,” he was struggling to get it all out. Suddenly he let out a disbelieving, insanely dull laugh. “Only now I realize that wasn’t it. It wasn’t them. It was me all along,” he glued his lips together. He looked so old all of a sudden. All those years, weighting down on him. “I never said anything,” he looked at her, eyes afire. “I never realized that before, but I never did. And then my brother died and it was too much. I was all cocky, trying to not let my grief show. Be like them. Not care. I was so wrong. So, so wrong,” she was terrified to discover that the glaze covering the man’s eyes was in actuality tears. He took a few deep gulps of air, then followed by whiskey. A stray stream of golden liquid made its way down his wrinkled, hanging throat. “They always made it work. Made it look so easy,” he started again. She tried following every sudden turn and twist in the story, putting it together. “Fuck,” he laughed again, this terrifying, hollow sound. “They just made it work. The time thing. Holding it together. Engaging people. And Heaven and Hell and the trench coat guy and Earth and everything. And driving. Always driving,” he shook his head resignedly. Cindy gaped. Talking of Heaven and Hell like actual places, like a real thing. Base of all the oldest legends right in front of her. She wanted to jump up and down, but there was still so much more left. And the man, this man was about to reveal it all. If only she could make him rip his mouth away from the bottle.

“What happened?” she repeated, using the most soothing voice in her arsenal. The man coughed after swallowing too much whiskey at once and burning his throat. He sounded more hoarse than usual when he started again.

“They cared,” he said. “They really did. And I was so wrong. Now, when I think of all the people they must’ve lost,” he shook his head, his voice cracking and wavering. “Their own lives. The commitment. This huge commitment. I never appreciated what I got. I thought my life was hard, terrible. But no. You know why?” he looked at her fiercely, waiting for an answer. She shook her head and her throat suddenly got too dry. She gestured for another water. The man went back to kissing the mouth of the bottle. “Because I had it. I had it and it was good,” he laughed madly, his eyes open too wide, gray hair flying around like a halo. “I was furious, because after fifty years I wasn’t peeing myself. I was convincing myself I couldn’t have anything. That’s bull; mark my words. You can never be young too long. Because people die whether you’re twenty or eighty, but you don’t live in fear.”

The man’s words brought out a shiver. Years of self–loathing over past stupidity, the amount of wisdom gained.

“You’d think I’d figure it out during all those years back then,” his hand was shaking when he brought the bottle to his quivering lips. “But only actually getting physically older made me see all that. My brother kept saying it was a blessing, me not aging. That I didn’t want that, never,” a bitter smile curved up a corner of his mouth. “Guess he was right, huh? Because what I though was terrible? I’d give anything to go back in time and kick my own sorry–ass.”

“Wha–”

“I could’ve had a family. I could’ve traveled overseas. Try everything. I always wanted that,” he continued like he didn’t hear her. She wanted to know what happened. What was so horrible he was sitting alone in a bar at ten in the morning and drowning in whiskey, beer and regret. “Sam and Dean,” he chuckled deep in his throat. “Fuck, I miss them. I’m so fucking sorry.”

He leaned his forehead down on the counter, gripping the neck of the bottle so tight his fingers turned white. She didn’t want to speak up in fear of breaking him completely. Finally he straightened up and she was so thankful there weren’t any tears flowing down his cheeks.

“Everyone was dying. My parents, friends. And then my brother,” he repeated, staring blankly at his reflection. “And it was too much. I was so mad. I couldn’t watch them, those shared looks, fake compassion. It wasn’t, but I was so blind. So incredibly self–centered. So I decided to take the offer.”

“What offer?” she asked confusedly before she managed to stop herself. She was absolutely certain the man hasn’t mentioned any other offers besides the one the Winchesters made him. He looked at her.

“Sometimes the demons would show up,” he said. “Never tried anything, knew they couldn’t. Would get smitten right on the spot. The rebelled ones. There weren’t many of them, but backed up by rogue angels it was enough. Fucking working together, motherfuckers, you believe that?” he shook his head, some raw emotion in his eyes. “Wanted to get rid of Sam and Dean. Said they found a way, but couldn’t track them down. Couldn’t separate them. And one day I snapped. Said I’d help them. Why the hell not, right? The fuck did I do that?!” he slammed his fist on the bar; a few people turned their heads. The bartender couldn’t be bothered.

The man was panting heavily, trying to regain control. She stared with her mouth wide open.

“Oh God,” escaped her lips accidentally. He only laughed bitterly, insanity burning brightly in his eyes.

“God has left the building a long time ago, sweetheart. There were only Winchesters.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Okay, let’s get going!” Eric announced excitedly. “It’s a beautiful day, we’ve got lots of potential footage and wonderful sunlight!”

“Like it’s even gonna matter where we’re going,” grumbled Robert, piecing the required equipment together. “If it turns out to be a bust, I’m so telling you I told you do.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eric just waved his hand. He was sure it wasn’t a bust. He made sure of that. His research was impeccable. They were going to get everything on camera and they were going to be the people to prove the existence of monsters. Actually prove it. Because even if people knew about the legends, heard all those things, they believed it more in ways of cautionary tales than anything. Enough coincidences, a little imagination and bam, we got a story. Oh, and he was going to get a story. They had no idea.

“And if it’s a serial killer, I’m throwing the camera at you, you at him and I shag ass,” Robert nodded, as if confirming himself in something. “Just FYI.”

 

 

“Why can’t monsters live in mansions?” five minutes in and Robert was already in his full bitch–mode. “Seriously. Maybe they wouldn’t look so hideous if they only decided to grab an appointment with some Hollywood body–builder.”

“Goddamit, man, shut up!” Eric slapped him upside the head. They were following a path of old abandoned tracks in a coalmine of questionable stability and he wasn’t exactly excited enough to risk being buried alive. “Just keep the camera rolling, okay?”

“Easy, honey,” sneered Robert. “It ain’t my job. Remember I can decide to dump your ass anytime I want.”

Eric just shook his head exasperatedly and led the way. Under the camera flashlight, he studied the blueprints again and took a turn right, further into the labyrinth. Then he started walking backwards and talking. He was exceptionally proud of his intro. He was working on it a good share of time. The lamp was blinding him slightly, but he thought it was much nicer than night vision. Night vision gave him weird eyes and the monster would probably look fake and out of place.

Suddenly he heard a noise over his talking. Robert seemed to notice too, because he looked up from the lens questioningly. It sounded like a moan. An unnervingly human moan.

“Keep rolling,” Eric ordered and led them to the end of the tunnel. There was a noticeably bigger cave, maybe some kind of an old storage. The ceiling was uneven, but at least higher than in passages themselves. Some daylight was trying to force its way in through the cracks in the corner, where the soil was wearing thin. Not enough to see anything too clearly, though. Just barely for Eric to make out at least thee shapes hanging from the ceiling boards. When he realized those were actual people he choked on his own scream. Panic, urge to continue with the documentary and his inner voice yelling at him to call an ambulance were fighting inside his head. Then he heard another moan, followed by a pained yelp from further inside the tunnels. Robert looked at him, frozen, eyes filled with fear. Eric pulled a gun out from behind his belt. His hands were shaking, struggling with the safety switch. He shot a glance in Robert’s direction, seeking reassurance despite his friend’s earlier threat about leaving him here.

The moans got closer; Eric tried to calm himself down frantically, aiming at the tunnel. Someone was hurt and someone was trying to reach them, probably looking for help. And then the camera light revealed a huge, deformed silhouette nearing them. They both screamed, Eric fired and could hear Robert struggling with the camera somewhere in the background. The bullet did no good, but now the creature seemed angry, moans transforming into inhuman screeches. That was it. That was the end. This was how he was going to die. He congratulated Cindy and wanted to bite his own head off for even assuming he could take on a monster. What the fuck was he thinking?!

The creature moved so fast he could only see a blur in the shadows. It was coming to get him. He closed his eyes, heart clogged up his throat, praying. Then, suddenly, he heard a soothing sound of – wings? – beating over the creature’s howls and he wasn’t dead yet, so it had to be good.

 

 

Cindy had a hard time processing all this. Then suddenly, a terrifying realization hit.

“Past tense,” she whispered. The man didn’t even blink. “Since the very beginning, you were talking about them in past tense,” she said louder. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his forehead. “What happened?”

For a while there she thought she’d never get the answer.

“An ambush happened,” he sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. “Next time I saw them, I was supposed to give the demons a signal. It felt like this huge, somehow meaningful day. And then Sam and Dean came, all good mood and bickering, asking how’s life and if I needed anything– ” his voice broke, he stopped for a second. “So stupid,” he wiped his eyes angrily. “I was so fuckin’ stupid. Moment I laid eyes on them, I sent the signal. And then stalled. In the middle of it all, I changed my mind. I finally realized how irrational, selfish and ungrateful I was being. How fucking evil. It hit me; I was selling out the only important people in my life. They were just like that. And when Sam pulled out this ancient book I was going crazy about for ages – they found it, I can’t believe they fuckin’ somehow got their hands on it, that they remembered – and handed it to me, announcing it a gift, I lost it. I started apologizing, trying to warn them about what I did, but it was too late. One second we’re at this diner, the next I’m being pushed into a corner of some dusty, abandoned warehouse and watching the Winchesters struggle against something invisible. Someone was chanting something. And then angels and demons and it was all so fast. They separated them. They fuckin’ sep– ” he was shaking, she noticed, gulping air erratically. Then she realized she was shaking too. She was living through it, helpless, useless. Her eyes stung. “I’ll never forget the look Dean gave me. I could understand if it were hatred, or anger or even betrayal. That’s what I did, after fucking all. But it was sadness. It was disappointment. And I felt it like a goddamn punch right to my gut. I couldn’t breathe. They bound him somehow; he was barely able to move. Sam was screaming. Really screaming. Yelling his lungs out. I was fucking terrified. I’d never seen him so furious. Never really thought he was even capable of such emotion. Always so composed. In control, you know? Rational. But right then, right in that moment he was one fucking petrifying son of a bitch. They pushed Dean to the ground; he was still recovering from their last hunt, almost lost all his guts. I could see his shirt staining with blood where they pulled the stitches. I was screaming too, but nobody even noticed. I barely noticed. They were trying to contain Sam. Almost dozen angels and demons and he was still pushing them off. Whenever they got close to him, it was like invisible waves were swiping them away. And then– ” his breath was shaky. She was trying hard to regain a steady heartbeat rhythm. “Then– ” he broke down, tears freely flowing down his face. Years of fear and regret and weariness and sleepless nights and remorse coming out. Childish faith crumbled and grinded to dust and for a moment she saw a little boy scared out of his wits, consequences of his actions following him restlessly wherever he went and however he tried to reach redemption.

“Then what?” she asked and was truly shocked at how calm it had sounded. His eyes found her; bloody red around the irises and watery, unseeing, the man behind them reliving memories from ages ago.

“They shot him,” he whispered, practically inaudible. Somewhere in the kitchen someone dropped something metallic on the floor, a group of people was laughing in the corner, the bartender was refilling a glass, all so out of place, such a clear dissonance.

“What?” her voice was small. And they were both children then, scared and alone.

“I saw them shoot Dean. I saw him fall back. I heard this inhuman howl and somehow knew it was Sam. His head snapped back in my direction, so fast– I felt my bladder give out,” he whispered. “And his eyes were pitch black. Like coal. For the first time I could really see him for the monster so many were convinced he was. And I _felt_ his despair. I _felt_ his hatred. The _pain_. The demons threw themselves at him, angels right behind. And that’s where it ended for me. A huge bloody splatter around Dean’s head. Like a fuckin’ macabre halo. His dead eyes. All went black and right then I was so out of my mind I thought it was Sam, his eyes swallowing my soul. I woke up on the floor in my own room. Never saw them, ever again. The legends were still spreading. The world was still there. I started to age again. Later I found out I slept through the Great Blackout. And it was them, I’m sure of that like of my own useless life,” what?! The Great Blackout was them?! The man sitting beside her? He was responsible for the biggest disaster of the New Age? It was impossible, absolutely impossible! Three days of complete darkness and paralysis. Not only electricity. Everything! Completely everything. The laptops and tablets and cellphones and music players; all the planes in the air crashed, all the trains on the move derailed, cars stopped running. Some said even the closest satellites went down. It was chaos. The death toll was uncountable. The repercussions lasted for years! “And they were _not_ there,” the man gritted though his teeth, unaware. “Not there and I couldn’t sleep, always waking up to the echo of a shot and a howl. I still do,” he slid off of his chair without another word, turning his back on her. “Don’t bother me again.”

And he left. Even though she tried, she never saw him again.

 

 

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” Eric was stuck on repeat since the moment she entered the trailer the next day. Robert was speechless, sitting on the couch in front of the camera.

“What’s going on?” she directed the question at anyone who would be willing to answer. Patting a jacket pocket, she felt comforted by the weight of a recorder.

“We saw a monster,” Robert said finally, his voice flat. “We saw a monster.”

Her eyebrows shot up.

“And?” she inquired, encouraging them. “D’you get it?”

“You have no idea,” Eric went into the stage of rocking quietly back and forth on the floor. She barely heard his whisper. “You have to see it. It almost ate us.”

Cindy gasped.

“What?” she cringed at her own screech. “The hell?! How are you alive?! Was it a real monster?”

Robert snorted dispassionately.

“Thanks for the faith.”

“You know what I mean,” she snapped. “What the fuck happened?”

She was looking back and forth between her friends, waiting impatiently.

“See for yourself,” Rob announced finally and slid the camera her way.

The image was a bit grainy, but that was expected out of a piece of junk like that. On the screen was Eric, frozen.

“You should stop using the lamp. Makes your eyes look creepy,” she pressed play and her friend’s voice filled the otherwise quiet room. First minutes were boring as hell, until they reached the big room. And then things started happening. Someone moaned, someone screamed, Eric screamed, the camera was shaking spasmodically, but not enough to not see a deformed shape getting closer. A gunshot. Robert almost dropped the equipment right then. The figure suddenly disappeared and then appeared almost right in front of the lens. It was hideous, terrifying. She flinched back, like it could somehow get her. Even through the screen. Robert–on–tape squeaked. After that there was a sound. She couldn’t identify it. She replayed the part. Even knowing the monster would jump out of nowhere, she still grimaced. After Robert’s undignified noises and a growl, the soothing sound could be heard again. She paused. Looked up questioningly.

“Are those– ”

“Feathers?” Eric cut in, giggling hysterically. “Yeah. Awesome, huh?”

She stared for a few seconds. Then returned to the video without any more words.

“We’re dead!” Eric–on–tape yelled. The image shook uncontrollably, camera obviously forgotten by that point. A huge shadow of something appeared, moving. And then another voice joined in, booming, annoyed.

“ – even think about it!” a pause, another growl. “Are you kidding me?! Dean!”

Some clattering, then a whoosh and an explosion of light. Fire, she realized. The creature shrieked, the image blurred. Robert managed to record someone’s jean–clad leg and a work boot. A part of a big arm wrapped in leather. Someone’s eye flickered white. Then the ground again, shaking.

“My timing is awesome,” another voice, much deeper, powerful and full of self–satisfaction. Another rumbling, inhuman growl in the distance, getting closer. “Go, I’ll get them out!”

A scatter of shoes on the ground, moving away. A lean, thin shadow of something resembling a – tail?! – swished over the wall the camera was pointed at.

“Don’t zap them!” came the first voice, further away, full of authority.

“Yeah, yeah!” the second voice screamed back, dismissively. “Man, I hate Wendig– ”

And then the image stopped. She gaped.

“Then we were here,” Robert said, staring into the wall. “The camera turned off.”

She looked up, eyes wide.

“No way back,” Eric added. “Just there and then here.”

“Those dudes were huge,” Robert muttered to himself, out of the blue.

She dropped her gaze to the camera screen again. It was stuck on someone’s partial shadow. Something clicked. Was it even possible?

“Dean,” she gasped. “Oh, my God.”

Eric was biting his nails. Robert was slapping himself.

“Do you realize what you just caught on tape?” she asked, disbelievingly. “Who?”

Her friends looked at her, unseeing.

“The Winchesters. Fucking Winchesters. Out of nowhere. Oh, God. Oh, my God. Fuck me, fuck me,” she started circling the trailer, clutching the camera to her chest. Then the lights flickered. She heard a rumble outside. It sounded like a car. The camera made a sound. Not a good sound. She glanced at the screen. Did a double take. “Oh, no. No. No, no, no, no, no, no!”

“What?” Eric screamed, getting out of his stupor. “What’s going on?”

She shrieked and kicked the door open, running outside. This couldn’t be happening. Not now! She sprinted as fast as possible, as far as possible. The camera was still malfunctioning viciously. She stopped dead in her tracks when she caught a glimpse of a backlight disappearing behind the trees. She just stood there until her friends caught up to her. She looked at the camera. At its black, empty screen. Useless. Her mind was just as blank.

“Cindy, come on! Stop crashing!” she blinked.

“It’s gone,” she said.

“What’s gone?”

“The video. They’re gone.”

Eric and Robert stood silent by her side. Suddenly, Rob spoke.

“Don’t you have that dictaphone footage, though?”

Her hand shot up, hope rising. She fished it out of her pocket, pressed play and–

“Nothing,” she felt her eyes well up. “Nothing,” she repeated.

“We’ll find that guy again,” Eric tried to be supportive, even if he himself was barely holding up.

“No,” she answered, certain, shaken. “We won’t.”

“Can’t believe I almost got eaten for nothing,” Robert groaned, breaking the moment. He shook his head. “So, monsters – real. That’s a real soother.”

“And Winchesters.”

“What about them, Cin?”

“They’re real too.”

Nobody said anything for a while.

“What makes you so sure?”

She stared at the corner of the road they disappeared behind.

“Because they keep it all together.”

Something growled deep in the woods, the night falling quickly. They shuddered involuntarily and turned around. The door to the trailer stayed firmly locked behind them.


End file.
